eard, grey
also, adorned his heavy chin. Gladys was conscious of a strong sense of
repulsion as she looked at him, but she tried not to show it, and feebly
smiled as she extended her hand.

'Are you Uncle Abel, papa's brother?' she asked--a perfectly unnecessary
question, of course, but it fell from her involuntarily, the contrast
was so great; almost she could have called him an impostor on the spot.

'Yes,' said Uncle Abel in a harsh undertone; 'and you, I suppose, are my
niece?'

'Yes. Can I take your overcoat or your umbrella?' asked Gladys; 'and
would you like some tea? I can ask Miss Peck to get it. I have not had
any myself--now I come to think of it.'

'I'll take off my coat. Yes, you can take it away, but don't order tea
yet. We had better talk first--talking always makes one hungry; then we
can have tea, and we won't require any supper. These are the economics
poor people have to study. I guess you are no stranger to them?'